A Maiden more beautiful than had ever
before been seen came into the house of a great chief and grew to womanhood by his fireside. All the tribes
within a distance of many long journeys paid her
homage, for, though her eyes were as dark as the
depths of the pool in the rocks, her skin was as fair
as that of the palefaces who came thousands of
years afterwards, and her hair was borrowed from
the rays of the sun.

The great chief was honored above all his people
on account of his beautiful daughter, for she could
work charms that drove away the evil spirits of
sickness, and when her father went to battle or followed the chase he was ever successful, for he carried with him the maiden's smiles to daze and blind
his enemies, or to aid in his search for the hidden
trail. Her songs were so full of music that when
she sang the wild birds were silent in the branches
of the trees, and listened that they might catch the
tones of her voice. When she laughed the waters
in the mountain streams sought the deep pools and
for very shame stopped their noisy clamor. Her
feet were so small and delicate that only the skins
of fawns were used to make her moccasins. The
snow that lay over the earth in winter was no
whiter than her skin, and her cheeks were like the
first coming of the sun on the mornings when the
corn is ripe. Never before had the Indians seen one
so beautiful, and the wise men whispered that she
had been sent by the Great Spirit from the Happy
Hunting-Grounds to teach the Indians what beauties
awaited them when they had journeyed to their
long home.

Over all the land spread the story of this wondrous maiden, like the tidings of a bountiful harvest
or the boastings of a successful chase. From the
villages far away came the young chiefs and warriors, and when they had looked upon this lily of
the forest and heard the music of her voice they no
longer had hearts for the hunt, but spent their days
in trying to win approving glances from the dark
eyes of Oniata, the daughter of Tiogaughwa. They
brought for her the most gorgeous and elaborate
head-dresses of wampum, in which were woven the
quills and feathers of the birds their cunning had
been able to ensnare. They performed the most
wonderful feats of agility and endurance, often vie-
ing with each other until even their rugged natures
could not withstand the terrible self-imposed ordeals, and some sank exhausted or dying, while the
more fortunate ones shouted cries of triumph and
victory, loudly boasting of their own powers and
strength.

Tiogaughwa, the father of Oniata, was filled with
pride at the attention shown his daughter. His lodge
was rich with presents of rare furs and strings of
wampum that had been laid at her feet ; the medicine
of the wisest chiefs was freely placed at his disposal;
he could have allied his tribe with the most powerful—for the greatest chiefs and the most renowned
warriors sought to wed the beautiful Oniata.

But there came a change to these happy days of
the old chief, Tiogaughwa. One day the chiefs and
warriors were surprised to see the council-place
filled with the women and maidens from all the
country around. They deserted their lodges, left
the fires to the care of the old men and children,
and, without heeding the dark looks of their husbands, sons or brothers, took the places usually
occupied by the wise men of the nation. When all
were assembled, the wives of five of the principal
chiefs were sent to ask Tiogaughwa and the chiefs
and wise men to come to the council-fires.

When the chiefs and wise men were seated a
silence fell on the assemblage. At last it was
broken by the first faint notes of the mourning song
of an Indian maiden for a lover who had been slain
in battle. Others joined the chant and the weird
chorus was caught up by the hundreds of women
assembled, and filled the forests with notes of sorrow. The song ceased, but its last note had
scarcely died away before another took its place.
The Indian wives commenced chanting the sorrowful story it was the custom of a deserted wife to
sing in her lonely lodge when her husband had left
her to join another more congenial to his fancy.
When their complaint had ended, the women sat a
long time with bowed heads. Finally the wife of one
of the chiefs—a tall, lithe, beautiful young princess
—stepped before the chiefs and sachems and said
:

"We have come to the council-fires, oh! my
brothers, that we might together tell the Great
Spirit that the lovers of the Indian maidens are dead,
and to ask him to meet them at the borders of the
Happy Hunting-Grounds. We have come, too, oh!
my brothers, to tell the Great Spirit that the bad
spirits have caught the ears of our husbands and
have told them tales that have led them from our
lodges, and their wives and papooses are sick
with hunger. No longer is the smile of the dark
maiden sought by the young braves. She plaits
her hair with flowers and wampum and sits in the
forests to await the coming of her mate; but the
young braves come no more to woo her, nor can
they be found on the track of the bear or the panther. They loll with the dogs in the shadow of
Oniata's wigwam and glare like the hard-wounded
boar at the dark maidens who approach them.
They are dead, and the hearts of the Indian maidens
are full of sorrow.

"The wives cover their heads with wolf skins
and tell the Great Spirit that their husbands have
deserted them. Day after day they have kept che
lodge fires burning, but the hunters come not to sit
in the light and tell the stories of the chase. The
feeble old men and boys have tried to follow the
hunt that they might provide the women with food.
The papooses have sickened and died, and the
death-song has been raised many times. But the
warriors come not. They have forgotten their
homes, as they lie in their camps near the lodge of
the white lily, where they are held in sleep by the
smiles of the Oniata.

"Have the dark maidens lost their beauty, that
their glances can never again bring life to the hearts
of the young braves ? Have the dark wives refused
to do the bidding of their husbands that they should
be deserted like sick and wounded dogs fallen in
the chase ?

"My brothers, Waunopeta, the wife of Torwauquanda, has spoken, and her sisters have told her
to say that if they no longer please the hearts of the
red men they ask to be sent on the long journey to
the Happy Hunting-Grounds."

As Waunopeta ceased speaking and took her
place among the crouching forms of the women,
there was a movement on the outer edge of th^
circle, and in an instant Oniata stood in the centre
of the council-place. There was an exclamation of
interest as this vision of wonderful beauty burst
upon them. Many had never seen her, and they
were almost blinded by a loveliness that was previous to that time unknown to the race. She was
clothed in the richest of skins, and her hair fell like
a cloud of sun-kissed mist over her beautiful shoulders. Her cheeks burned with tints that betrayed
her common ancestry with her dark sisters whom
she had unwittingly troubled.

** Oniata is here! "she cried, as she looked around
at the dark faces before her, with eyes like those of
the hunted fawn. ''Oniata is here to say that she
has not asked for the smiles of the young braves.
They came around her wigwam and drove away
the dream-god with their cries and love songs; but
she covered her ears with the skins of the beaver
and would not listen to them. When Oniata went
forth to the forest they appeared before her like the
thunder clouds, and she went back to her wigwam
and could not look at her father, the sun. The
warriors came to the lodge of the white lily and
with shouts and cries told the Oniata that their
wives and children should be the white lily's slaves
if she would look out of her lodge upon them. But
the Oniata called the women of her wigwam about
her and they laughed in the faces of the warriors.
Oniata loves her sisters, but they are angry at the
white lily and ask that she be sent away to the long
home where she shall be seen no more by the braves
and warriors. She will go from the home of the
red men and her dark sisters—far away beyond the
mountains and the great lakes—and the braves will
return to life for the dark maidens and seek them
with love songs in the forests, while the warriors
will once more go to their wigwams where their
wives and papooses await them. But her people
will remember the Oniata, for she will kiss the
flowers in the forests as she goes.

"My sisters, the Oniata, daughter of the sun and
the great chief Tiogaughwa, has spoken."

She waved her hand, and the circle of listening
men and women parted that she might walk
through. The chief, Torwauquanda, started forward to follow her, but the dark princess, Waunopeta, stood in his pathway, and he knew by the
looks of the menacing faces about him that the
white lily would go alone.

Tiogaughwa rose as his daughter moved rapidly
away, and said: ** Oniata has spoken well. She
will go in peace. The scalp-lock of the warrior
that follows her will hang in Tiogaughwa's
wigwam."

The old chief turned and folded his arms over his
breast, watching with pathetic love the fast disappearing form of his daughter.
Out into the forest went the Oniata—the loved
of the sunshine, the dream of the Indian—and the
solemn council sat in silence as the beautiful vision
faded forever from their view.

Far away from her people she wandered, never
stopping to look back toward the home she had
loved. The sun warmed her pathway for many
days, and at night the sister of the sun smiled
through the branches of the trees and lighted the
forest so the Oniata would not miss her lodge-fire
as she slept. When she rested beside the clear
streams she caught to her bosom the blossoms that
covered the banks and breathed into their faces the
love she had borne for her dark sisters and her
home. The fragrance of her love filled their hearts
and from that time they have freely given their love
to others, as Oniata bade them when she pressed
them to her lips and kissed them in her loneliness.
When the clouds came and the rain fell, Oniata was
sheltered by the thick branches of the trees, and
when the rain had ceased she pulled the branches
down, and pressing her cheeks against them,
thanked them for their kindness. The trees learned
gentleness from the maiden, and their blossoms
have ever since spread their grateful perfume on
the air.

Many moons passed. The dark maidens were
again wooed by the young braves, and the wives
of the warriors were happy in the return of their
husbands. The winter came and cast its white
cloud over the land, and the frosts locked the rivers
in prison houses of ice. But Oniata came not to
the home of her people.

The great Tiogaughwa mourned his daughter in
his lonely wigwam, and his heart sang her death-song as he sat before the fireplace, in which no fire
was lighted, and bowed his head in mournful
silence.

The warm winds came again, and the young
men and maidens were once more filling the forests
with their love-songs, while with laughter they
chanted the praises of their mates. Tiogaughwa
saw all this, but his heart was heavy and he had no
words for the council-fire, no strength for the chase.
He left his people and walked away in the path
that had been taken by Oniata. Wherever he
went the wild flowers raised their heads and told
him they had been kissed by Oniata, and the great
Tiogaughwa fell down beside them and caught the
fragrance of her breath. When the dew and the
rain were upon them he could see once more the
beauty of her eyes, and the gentle songs of the soft
winds through the trees that had sheltered Oniata
and had felt the loving touch of her caresses, told
the great Tiogaughwa that the light of his wigwam
awaited his coming in the long home.